<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Neighbours by Estrella3791</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691808">Neighbours</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estrella3791/pseuds/Estrella3791'>Estrella3791</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ineffable Husbands AU Week 2020 [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Aziraphale is Annoyed, Ineffable Husbands AU Week 2020, but I'm Canadian so make it neighbours, crowley is tired, spoiler alert they Like each other</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:33:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,397</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26691808</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estrella3791/pseuds/Estrella3791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale's neighbour (who he may or may not have a crush on) keeps setting loud alarms early in the morning. Aziraphale confronts him about it. Things are said.<br/>(Rated M for swear words.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Ineffable Husbands AU Week 2020 [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942321</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Neighbours</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Reposted from my big giant work as its own entity, which I know is confusing and strange. I apologize. Please indulge my eccentricities.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>Aziraphale considers himself a patient person. He has a fairly stressful job, he has incredibly aggravating bosses, he deals with unpleasant customers on a regular basis. He knows how to take deep breaths, count to ten, save his screams for his pillow. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But he is teetering on the edge of committing something resembling physical violence.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His neighbor (and good friend), Anthony J. Crowley, works a very early shift on a regular basis. Aziraphale isn’t upset about this. It’s understandable. (Although Crowley’s bosses seem hellish, honestly.)</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p> He sets loud alarms to get himself up on time. Aziraphale understands this, too. The loudness isn’t an issue. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The issue is that Crowley <em>doesn’t wake up</em>. His godforsaken alarms beep and blare for hours on end, sometimes, leaving Aziraphale cranky and irritable and very, very awake, staring at the ceiling and wishing that he wasn’t.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It’s unbearable.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He thinks that if it was later in the day he wouldn’t mind as much. He’d put on some headphones, make some tea, read a book. But it’s - he squints at his bedside clock - <em>three forty-five in the morning</em>, and he’s not feeling so charitable. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Before he even knows what he’s doing he’s out of bed and banging his fist on Crowley’s door.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Crowley!” he shouts. “Crowley, wake up and turn your blasted alarm off!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Nothing. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Crowley!” he all but shrieks, and there’s no answer. Out of desperation, irritation, and something else that he’d never admit looks a lot like concern, he tries the doorknob.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It is unlocked.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You foolish man!” he spouts, opening the door and stepping through into Crowley’s apartment. “Someone could break in and hurt you!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The alarm keeps blaring. Aziraphale considers the fact that he’s technically breaking and entering, and then considers the fact that it is <em>three forty-five in the morning</em> and Crowley could very possibly be <em>hurt</em> and Aziraphale is <em>concerned</em>. (Yes, fine, he’ll admit it.) </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He fumbles his way through the apartment, bumping into chairs and things, and by the time he reaches what he thinks is the hallway to Crowley’s door he hears a muffled groaning.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Crowley?” he calls. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mbjdfhriaphale?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, it’s me,” says Aziraphale, starting to feel cross. Crowley does not sound injured, just groggy, and that is unacceptable. “Turn your alarm off, for the love of all that is holy!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Nbhrag,” says Crowley, and there is a sudden, beautiful rush of silence where the alarm used to be. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Why on earth did you not wake up?” demands Aziraphale from his spot in the hallway. (He’s not sure whether going into Crowley’s room would make the situation better or worse.)</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Ssssorry,” slurs Crowley. There is the gentle thump of feet hitting floor, and then the sound of stumbly footsteps. He appears in the doorway of his bedroom and leans a hand against it, rubbing at his face with the other one. “Wha time ‘sit?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>His hair is sticking up in all directions and he has a Queen t-shirt and some red and black plaid pajama pants and he is barefoot and Aziraphale wants very badly to stay upset so that his points will come across, but unfortunately that is very difficult to do when Crowley is looking so… oh, bother it all, he doesn’t want to say adorable but frankly no other word will do.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The scoundrel.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It is - ” Aziraphale checks his watch and then remembers that he doesn’t wear it to bed and he didn’t put it on before he huffed his way over here and also that it is dark and he wouldn’t be able to read it anyway. “It was three forty-five quite recently, I think.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Crowley jerks awake, hisses several profanities, and disappears inside his room again.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“There really is no need for that kind of language,” says Aziraphale, who is feeling quite rattled from seeing a flash of Crowley’s midsection when he rubbed at his eyes just now. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Sorry,” says Crowley, for the second time that morning, and Aziraphale starts to feel sympathy. “I didn’t - oh, shit - I forgot - fuck - I can’t believe I - ”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What is it, dear boy?” says Aziraphale, who promptly regrets saying dear boy (<em>really, Aziraphale, what kind of ridiculous antiquated language will you use next?</em>) but cannot take it back. All he can do is hope that Crowley is too sleepy and panicked to notice - which seems an awful thing to hope for. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Delivery,” says Crowley, dashing down the hall past Aziraphale and towards the door. “Last night - fuck - ” he caught his foot on the same chair that tripped up Aziraphale - “had to work late, didn’t get home til one, forgot - ”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh my,” says Aziraphale, appalled. “And must you stay at work all day today?” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Crowley looks up from sliding his feet into his boots, looking baffled and befuddled and it makes Aziraphale’s heart do strange twisty things. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes,” he says, sounding bewildered. “That’s what you do at work, isn’t it?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, usually,” says Aziraphale, wringing his hands, “but not when you’ve only gotten a few hours’ sleep.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Eh, ‘m used to it,” says Crowley, waving a dismissive hand and heading out the door. Aziraphale, feeling as though he’s just starting to understand something very big, follows him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Is that why you never wake up to your alarms?” he asks as they make their way down the stairs. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Crowley looks intensely apologetic. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Ah, dammit, angel, I’m sorry - ”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>They both stop and look at each other, feeling panicked, but for different reasons.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What,” says Aziraphale, feeling lightheaded for some inexplicable reason. (Though it might have something to do with the endearment and the emotions that seemed to be lying underneath.) “What.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Aghck,” says Crowley, looking even more intensely apologetic, this time with touches of utter dismay. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I really - ”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“No, no,” says Aziraphale, whose irritation at being woken up has melted away in the face of this revelation. “You needn’t be sorry. For not waking up, or for… well. But, I just - I’d like to understand. How long…?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Crowley looks miserable, and Aziraphale feels suddenly wretched. Expecting Crowley to be brave when he himself hasn’t said a thing for years. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, never mind. You don’t have to - It’s all right. Only - ”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Crowley is clutching the railing with white-knuckled fingers and looking thoroughly unhappy, and Aziraphale suddenly remembers that he’s late and might be in trouble if he’s kept any longer by a fussy, demanding… angel, apparently. He feels himself start to smile. His neighbour really is one of the sweetest people he’s ever met. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Only,” he says again, feeling stronger and determined, “when you get home from work tonight, no matter how late it is, perhaps you could knock on my door and we could have a conversation? I could tell you…” Still time to back out, if you wanted, his brain whispers, but Aziraphale looks at Crowley, who woke up ten minutes ago and has had the worst morning of his life, probably, and knows that he can’t. “I could tell you how much I liked hearing you call me ‘angel,’ and how much I might like to hear it again.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Crowley’s head jerks up. His eyes are wide, and Aziraphale feels a rush of tenderness towards him. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Now go on, dearest,” he says, feeling incredibly bold. (And flattered. Crowley all but chokes at the name.) “You musn’t be late.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And he leans forward, using the momentum of his own courage, and presses a kiss to Crowley’s cheek. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He pulls back, and Crowley’s mouth is hanging open, and he looks incredibly dazed. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Go,” says Aziraphale, unable to keep from grinning, and Crowley seems to wake up for the second time today.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Right!” he says, trying to take the next step down but missing it and only saving himself from falling with his death grip on the railing. He can’t seem to look away from Aziraphale. (Very flattering, indeed.) “Right,” he says again, and reluctantly wrenches his gaze away to focus on the next step. “Tonight, then,” he says, and there is wonder in his tone and Aziraphale wishes he could kiss him again. Preferably in a less innocuous location. “I’ll look forward to it,” says Crowley, and then, tentatively, “... angel.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s a date,” says Aziraphale, and leaves Crowley to find his way down the stairs on his own. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>(And if the next morning Aziraphale doesn’t need to leave his own apartment to snap at Crowley to silence his alarm… well. That’s his own business.)</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>